Variations on a Bloody Red Theme
by The Voice in the Wilderness
Summary: An exercise in mood and character inspired by smoky, sensual and wicked jazz. All my works are mature, be they sexual or not - I don't believe I need to say that by now, now do I?
1. Chapter 1

_I have wanted to write some Hellsing for a while, believing I might not botch it terribly and hoping to do it some dark fun. Whenever I think of writing it, I just have to have me some delectable dark and smoky jazz. "A Kind of Blue" by Miles Davis is the inspiration for this little fiver finger exercise in mood and character. Perhaps I will continue it, but nevertheless, enjoy these modal mood pieces for what they are - single servings of pleasure, like shots of scotch or fine cigars..._

I. "So What"

He liked the sound of dissonance in its myriad forms and so he stayed to listen...

Walter was trying to decide what needed done before the lady of the house requested it, whatever that might be – it was like a game: who would blink first and admit their immense pride out loud? Be it cigars, finely made incense, peerless antique china or that ever-fascinating English maelstrom of cultural quirks; tea. The dowayne appeared to be deciding on the differences between Ceylon and Sri Lanka for this afternoon's refreshment and was taking little notice of the stylish wash of tidal jazz trumpet and piano as it wafted around his long, tasteful feet.

Alucard had other things by which to occupy his time – most likely, he could make them up if questioned. Or he could just grin knowingly, knowing that bullshit was as good as anything to occupy that annoying time between food.

No not food, never that – call it what it was. Blood...

His dead heart sped up for a few triplets then again was still.

"You may come out of the shadows, lounge and listen, Alucard." Walter spoke cannily over his shoulder, never faltering in his machinations with the tea instrumentation before him.

"And why would I want to do a thing like that, Angel of Death?", the vampire smirked at the old taunt between them.

"Because the music is speaking to you and you would be rude not to listen.", Walter countered easily, finishing his weights and measures for Herself's afternoon ritual, nimbly arpeggiating his long fingers and divesting the unseen speaks of wayward leaf found there.

"So what.", Alucard grinned wider, stepping slowly into the dying light of the afternoon salon.

"Exactly. Stay as long as you like and mind the Gramophone when it is finished, please." Hellsing House's head steward drolly remarked as he and the tea trolley left for their most pressing appointment.

Limber questioning double bass played against his ear, its call answered by the weirdly dissonant and liquid modal piano chords, all of that argued against by the over-arching eloquence of a jazz trumpet. He'd heard similar stuff during the Nazi war but not like this – not this sophisticated conversation between instruments and his ear. The intimacy of the modal jazz slinking out of Walter's old Gramophone was something new and all-together interesting. The voivode within his myriad psyche thought it strange, pagan noise, the alien life of his demons thought of pulsing hearts and sheets of flowing turbid blood, swirling with the strange slides and arpeggios wafting through his ears. The wholly hybrid identity that was his conscious mind thought it was wonderfully new and the warm rippling of life that new feeling engendered within his cool chest was most welcome. Letting his heavy dark head fall back in adulation, the vampire Alucard allowed himself to be seduced...

She found him leaning up against a column in the salon, his red eyes very faraway. Strangely familiar music wandered from the old Gramophone, no less mystical for the patently ancient vinyl hisses and growls that punctuated here and there. People still listened to vinyl pressings, Seras wondered to herself...?

_I do not own Hellsing or any of it's characters; no infringement is intended and no money is being made from this fanfiiction._


	2. Chapter 2

II. "Blue in Green"

It was raining again.

It was quiet.

Another perfect night.

She lit a cigar and waited for it to burn.

It was dark in the office as always. _When in Rome..._ she thought lazily.

Piano began it, as always, and she heard boots on the hard tiled floor, coming her way.

Muted trumpet was next, of course, as swirling char rose to fog her view of the blood red being before her now, slowly dripping cold water on her spotless floor.

A drum's brushes slinked around her slowly drumming finger-tips upon the blotter.

"Where have you been?", her voice rasped slowly, her eyes never leaving the rain-fogged lenses peeking down at her from under his unruly hair.

He said nothing at all, only smiled slowly, all velvet threat to everything decent she could think of. The trumpet swayed like a woman's hips – she didn't miss it.

The fangs gleamed and the tip of his lying tongue lazily flicked at one as he considered whether or not he would answer her in words or gestures. Gestures were much more fun but then his voice could do filthy things too.

"I won't ask you again, _creature_. Where have you been?", Integra leaned back in her leather chair, lazily fingering the hobnail trim on the oxblood skin under her small hand. She pretended it was the back of his neck where fine hairs met bare skin.

Trumpet licked at the back of her ear; she always imagined it was first and foremost a piano's song. Brushes shivered before the coda's brilliant solo... she felt long fingers stroke coolly down her spine, stopping just a tiny bit too far below decency, always just too far – and not far enough...

Just when she thought he would only smile like a sensual Sphinx and disappear into darkness, the demon before her divested himself of one soaking glove, wrung it out onto the floor at his feet and laying his naked hand near her own, bowed his head ever so slightly.

"Only serving your pleasure, master.", his smoldering voice wafted over her with a hundred meanings, each one filling her mind with fire and unrepentant sex. Then he was gone with the last dissonant chord drifting like mist in his wake.

Integra narrowed her eyes, took a shuddering drag from her cigar and hit "repeat" on her laptop. The song was "Blue in Green" but to her is was all- together bloody, bloody red.


	3. Chapter 3

Muted tremulous chords rumbled out beneath the high sigh of brass eloquence...

It sounded like the perfect distillation of what she'd heard the Yanks called "walking blues." only saturated in high and silky elegance like nothing else she'd ever heard...

"Master."

_Until he deigns to speak again_, Integra thought in an instinctive flash before she could help it.

Her servant loomed over her desk darkly and too still. Only his pale lips quirked upwards in a mysterious smirk not quite mature enough for a smile alluded to where his unearthly mind wandered; which was to say she had no real idea what the creature was thinking at all.

"You have only to ask to know my mind, master and I will give in.", the deep voice above her seated head slipped down like the zipper at her waist...

"Get your filthy vampire legions out of my head this instant!" Hellsing's mistress hissed in real anger.

Only Alucard was no longer in front of her at his usual attention. Uncrossing her legs, the filmy snare and goading trumpet filtered into the vacuous darkness of her office where once the lanky nasferatu had stood. A most unlady-like snort was her only comment as Integra reached across her desk for a cigar.

"Were that you gave in as easily, Master. Why not mix your blood with mine right now, in this place – on this chair... Alucard's cold breath blew down the back of her suit's jacket, despite the high blue silk cravat, despite her carefully crafted, tightly tailored blouse... the vampire's sudden lustful slurring voice in her ear, from his instantaneous appearance – always at her back: beckoning, seducing...

"Across your desk... upon the floor...

Winsome piano modalities waved passed her hammering heart like a playful cool breeze and for an instant she was insane with _need_.

She hoped he could hear her teeth grind together in supreme annoyance.

She could feel his smile widen a fraction at her temptation as his large cold hands took the unforgivable liberty of caressing down her taunt arms.

Sax giggled and smirked at them both in their awkward little dance which ended abruptly when Alucard's master eloquently stabbed his left hand with a hidden silver stilleto.

"I will never give in to you, Alucard.", Integra snarled softly up at the dark man grinning insanely down over her platinum head.

The vampire looming over her smiled his most wickedly handsome smile as he pulled the silver letter opener out of his palm without a glance. Red blood gleamed in fat drops upon the blade as he turned it towards Integra's stony eyes, daring her to lean in for a taste. A moment passed between them and died when the vampire grinned that much wider and flung the offending implement into the paneling across the room. The dull thunk as it hit and stuck was most satisfying to them both.

"Of course not, my Master.", Alucard's velvet voice slowly oozed into his captor's twitching ear, shrugging all suggestion off with playful teasing and nearly-serious deference.

Integra felt Alucard's presence removed before the rustle of his omnipresent coat-tails told her ears that her damn servant had removed himself from their midnite meeting. Muted trumpet once again spoke to her of early dawn travels, perhaps by foot in some gritty, cold pre-dawn metropolis. She could almost feel the dull, slow beating of some great steel and concrete heart, only to realize it was her own ho blood beating in her ears...

_As if I could give in without a fight, you beautiful liar... what mercies could I ever expect to find at the end of your fangs?_ Integra mused internally and tried to decide which was her pleasure tonight; scotch or absinthe for the sake of sleep...?

_Whoever said my fangs were where I need you the most, Master? _Even in her mind, the voided voice drew the shiver of temptation down the Mistress of Monsters' iron spine...

Next time, she'd cut the tongue out of that _creature's_ head with her stiletto – because if this foolishness continued, Integra knew she'd find herself on the end of it, screaming.

All blues, indeed...


End file.
